


Picturesque

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Affection, Bad Advice, Birthday Presents, Bittersweet Ending, Dancing, F/M, Forehead Kisses, Grumpiness, Introspection, Laughter, Leadership, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Earth Transformers, Silly, Staring, Stress Relief, Surprises, Television Watching, Tenderness, Transformers Spark Bonds, True Love, Video Cameras, Whining, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elita One's mood darkens in sync with the war, Moonracer has a problem, and Powerglide is asked for a favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Picturesque

“I don’t have any good presents for Elita’s creation day!”

At this wail of lament, Powerglide emerged from the washroom, coming upon his sweetspark sprawled across their berth, pouting. This had been her natural state for the past quintun as she fretted over what her commander—and honorary sister—would be receiving for her creation day. Elita One had made it very clear she didn’t want anything, but Moonracer could be quite the stubborn femme if she wanted to be and she had told Powerglide she was going to get a gift anyway.

Of course beyond that she had absolutely no idea what that gift was going to be. Powerglide had tried to be patient with her, but Elita’s creation day was tomorrow and Moonracer’s dour mood was starting to get to him.

“Well, you could get her nothing. Just what she wanted,” he suggested wryly, leaning against the washroom door and folding his arms expectantly.

Sitting up, Moonracer gave him a pointed look. “I have to, ’Glide! She needs something…something _fun!_ Something that’ll make her laugh!”

Though unintentionally, Powerglide snorted. Elita hadn’t laughed since the first time Optimus Prime had asked for a dance. His skeptical noise brought Moonracer to her feet, indignant but all the more determined.

“I mean it!” Moonracer insisted, leaning down, tugging at his hands and steering him toward the opposite side of the room. “She’s going to laugh and I’m going to make her. I’ll—”

Powerglide wouldn’t admit it, but he loved how her optics scrunched up when she was in thought. Somehow it seemed to make them brighter when they opened again.

“I’ll make a collage!” she burst out.

At times Powerglide still wondered what lot it was he had fallen into. Moonracer was a lot like him, which was why they had gotten together, but she was younger, a bit more imaginative, and sometimes she had the strangest of ideas. “A collage,” he echoed dumbly. “Sunbeam, you know Elita might not have time for lookin’ at that.”

“She’ll make time,” Moonracer reassured him, her EM field bristling with optimism and affection at hearing her nickname from him. “Because I’ll make it _so_ outrageous, she won’t be able to look away! You can take pictures or a video of me and then we’ll send them to her, alright? She may even display the pictures somewhere because she’ll like ’em so much!”

“I’m not sure _I_ want pictures of you where others can see. Besides, it might make other Bots think you shouldn’t be taken seriously,” Powerglide grumbled possessively as Moonracer shuffled through drawers in search of the holocamera. He could practically _hear_ her rolling her optics at his words.

“You’re so…considerate,” she answered in a tone that suggested she could have used other words. In any case, she handed him the holocamera and took a few steps back, tensing like a mechanimal ready to spring. He made no move to prepare the camera and exasperated air hissed through her vents. “C’mon, Powerglide, lift it up. We don’t want holopics of your knees!”

With a longsuffering sigh, he obeyed and she smiled brightly before suddenly launching into the air, twirling around with a perfect mixture of sloppy and graceful. Powerglide couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle she was making of herself, making stupid faces at him.

“I told you it’d be funny!” she called gleefully as she snatched up the nearest accessory, a box of Garbage O’s, and hugged them, spinning round and round.

Powerglide watched with a growing smile, settling his elbows on his knees and his chin on top of the camera, which he held in both hands. His spark pulse, normally high with adrenaline, fervor to move on to the next thing, was slowing, warm and content to settle into this nanoklik in time. There was no tension right now, no caste system or bots he had to train or a weapons range. Just him admiring her, watching her dance.

Even when everything else was circling the Pit, she stayed content, considerate, and lovely. How had he come to deserve this?

He was almost startled when she slowed and halted, vents recapturing the air she’d spent. “Well?” she panted, shoving a hand into the box of Garbage O’s and munching a few before she continued. “Get any good ones? Let me see!”

Sheepishly Powerglide handed the holocamera over and watched as her face contorted in confusion. “I kinda…was too busy watching,” he admitted, bracing himself for the annoyance.

To his surprise, she softened, looking up from the blank storage on the camera with a slight smile. “Good. Because today’s _your_ creation day, remember? That was your gift.” As he blinked in disbelief, she leaned forward and lightly kissed his chamfron. “And that too.”

“I completely forgot,” he stammered.

“Well, I didn’t!” Moonracer chirped, backing away and posing once more. “Now, shall we try again? I really _do_ need a gift for Elita.”

The next day, Moonracer and Powerglide would be vaguely disappointed when the message they sent to Elita, with a video attached, received no reply—at least, none that they would hear. She sat behind the soundproof walls of her quarters, chuckling softly at her youngest teammate, spinning until she stumbled and disjointedly humming _The Empyrean Suite_.

“It’s rare to see spirit like this now,” her sparkmate commented, looming behind her chair so she sensed him on the outer rims of her EM field.

“Indeed,” she agreed soberly. “When she takes up a weapon, I fear she’ll lose this.”

“Not so long as we fight for times like this,” Optimus countered, carefully turning the chair and placing his hands on her shoulders. She let herself be brought to her feet and then let her hands be taken into his larger ones.

As pain and death and upcoming battles loomed above them, the commanders danced.


End file.
